


Dr Who And The Girl In The Locker

by Rhebeqah



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Family, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-05-19 13:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19357855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhebeqah/pseuds/Rhebeqah
Summary: The Doctor is on a quest to save a teenage girl and a whole world too.Doctor Who/Worm crossover.DISCLAIMER:Doctor Who belongs to the BBC.Worm belongs to John C McCrae (Wildbow).I own neither of these properties and am writing this story for fun not profit.





	1. Intervention 1.1, The Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> In Doctor Who continuity, this story takes place after "Resolution" but before the Twelfth Series of the Revived Doctor Who. The Doctor makes her appearance in Worm continuity during Gestation 1.5.

The Time Traveller was sitting at a kitchen table, sharing a pot of tea and a plate of custard creams with her friend the Soccer Enthusiast who was expounding upon a recondite topic. The Doctor, for that was what the Time Traveller was called, listened with only a part of her mind, nodding at the appropriate intervals to Graham, the Soccer Enthusiast; she had never in her many incarnations understood the offside rule and it seemed very unlikely that today would be the day that she did.

No, she was thinking with the greater part of her mind of Graham's late wife, Grace, whose touch was still evident throughout the house. Eventually, the business of life would blur and eventually erase those traces but that would need Graham and Grace's grandson to actually be here, to be living here; they hadn't been home much of late thanks to the Doctor's usual shenanigans. Grace had been so full of life and joy and curiosity to a rare degree and she had died all too suddenly, all too soon. It wasn't fair, it wasn't just, it wasn't right, it was just how life was. The Doctor hadn't known her for very long but yet she mourned, mostly for the friendship that had never had a chance to truly blossom. 

Graham broke into her thoughts with a sudden question, evidently having noticed her inattention: "Doc, where's the worst place you've ever been to? The very worst place?"

She took a long, slow, contemplative sip of tea. "Oh, that's a very good question. You see, it depends on the person. The very worst place could be anything. It could be rats, it could be having stage fright and being on stage." She gave a brief, mad, joyous grin. "It could even be spiders." The corners of her mouth turned down. "It could be a school locker."

"A school locker?" Asked Graham.

"Before the Time War when I was very young, a friend of mine, you can call him the Corsair, told me this story." She took a fortifying swig of tea.

"Now unlike me who was perfectly happy with the up and down of time, the Corsair liked the sideways directions. Back then, it was fairly easy to go sideways, not like nowadays.

"One day he went to a sideways world called Earth Bet. They had a limited knowledge of other sideways worlds which was why they didn't call it just Earth". She took a bite of a custard cream before dipping it in her tea.

"Funny that. You'd expect them to call their world Earth Aleph. Anyways, some of the inhabitants of Earth Bet had strange and fabulous powers and would wear equally odd costumes and masks. Masks! Mustn't forget the masks!" She waved her custard cream in emphasis before drinking more tea.

"What? Like in those Marvel films? You're having me on!" Graham looked sceptically at the Doctor.

"All true! Cross my heart! Parahumans they were called, these people with powers, and they got them by having summat really, really bad happen to them." She found she had drunk all her tea and poured herself another cuppa.

"There was this teenage parahuman the Corsair met. She had been bullied for almost two years by these three girls. One of them had been her best friend, almost a sister. The teachers when told about it did nowt. The teachers when they saw it happening did nowt. This girl had lost her mum and her dad was too deep in mourning to see his bairn was ailing. All this for nearly two years." She brought her teacup down on the saucer with an angry clatter.

"I'm still cut up about losing Grace but that's no excuse not to do my best by Ryan." Fumed Graham.

"You're strong, Graham, but not everyone has your strength. And the dad had lost his soulmate. No easy thing, that. As I know all too well." She replied.

"So, back to this girl. This wicked trio of lasses locked her in her own locker. It wasn't a locker full of books, sports kit and trainers with pictures of sweethearts or celebrity crushes taped on the inside of the door. It was full of tampons scavenged from the bin from the girls' loos, shit and piss scooped up from the toilet pans. All this, left to rot over the Christmas break." She wrinkled up her nose in an open-mouthed grimace.

Graham put down the custard cream he had been nibbling on, suddenly bereft of appetite. "That's fucking appalling!" He growled. He wasn't usually one for swearing, was Graham.

"She was only in there for an hour or so, all told, but it's always forever in the very worst place. When the school caretaker let her out she was stark raving bonkers and no wonder, poor kid!" She made a sad, heavy sigh.

"Still, nowt was done about the bullying although the school did, rather grudgingly and ungraciously, pay her medical expenses and make promises they wouldn't keep.

"And after all that fuss and bother she got summat out of it, a parahuman power. She could control all of the bugs and creepy-crawlies within a quarter of a mile, know what each one could do, knew what each one was doing, knew exactly where each one was, control each one individually, set each its own task."

Graham frowned. "That must be what, millions of insects?"

"Oh, a lot more than that!" exclaimed the Doctor. "Anywhere between fifteen and fifty billion bugs, I would say, at a conservative guess. And likely more than that."

"Blimey! And she could do all that?" Mused Graham in wonder. "Since the cancer, I can barely walk and eat a packet of crisps at the same time!"

"Yeah, that's really awesome, you know. I don't know of any species that can approach that degree of control and precision except maybe the Cybermen and they're clumsy by comparison.

"Anyroad, back to the story. This new power, it seemed to make matters worse for her. Most people are afraid of bugs so most people were afraid of her. The authorities gave her a demeaning code name, Skitter, as if she was vermin."

"Bloody government!" Graham grumbled.

"Indeed. That's officialdom for you. Yet, she got on with life. She made new friends even, ones who didn't bully her, ones who actually liked and trusted her.

"Then one day, a Dalek fleet appeared in the skies of Earth Bet."

She saw Graham wince. That business with the scout Dalek? Not fun. But then, Daleks are never fun.

"Thing about the Daleks is that they're all linked into a sort of internet. They call it the Pathweb. Her power, for some odd reason, decided the Pathweb was just another insect and through it she got control of every single Dalek in orbit and every single Dalek who had landed. And wherever there was a Dalek on the surface of Earth Bet she could control all the bugs within four hundred yards of it."

"Didn't the Daleks have any security on that thing?" Asked Graham. "It would be pretty shambolic if they didn't."

"Oh, the Pathweb had the best security that bunch of tinplated paranoids could dream up. Absolutely ferocious security. I've never been able to get the damned thing to crack. The weird net architecture doesn't help either. But maybe it was that same architecture which made it all possible for her to do what she did. I couldn't say, dunno how her power works.

"So, this young woman became the most powerful and dangerous person in the world just by pure chance. Poor lass! She must have been terrified! All those millions of Dalek minds nagging at her, screaming their hate, their utter revulsion at being mastered by a human, wanting to exterminate her and she having to endure all that grinding spite, keep control of them, stop them from killing everyone on Earth Bet. Daleks are the worst bullies I know, the very worst.

"Eee! That poor lass! She was in the very worst place and was now somewhere worse. I wonder who she was? I know her name, Taylor Anne Hebert, but I wonder who she was?"

The Doctor abruptly stood up, rocking the table, the tea slopping over the brim of her cup onto the saucer.

Startled, Graham asked: "What's up, Doc?"

She mock glared at Graham. "You've been saving that up! Just waiting for the chance to strike." she accused. "For shame, Graham O'Brien! For shame!"

"But really, what is up with you, Doctor?" Graham looked concerned.

She sighed. "I wonder why the Corsair told me that story. Maybe it was because I had kids at the time or maybe he saw summat in me that I didn't; he was an excellent judge of character, that man. Most likely he just wanted to unburden himself. His stories were usually about him and were dreadful whoppers but this one was different. It was a sad tale and didn't have a proper ending."

"Maybe he wanted you to help." Suggested Graham. "But couldn't this Corsair bloke have managed it on his own?"

The Doctor laughed. "He was one of the good ones, he would get into other folk's scrapes and get things sorted. But unlike me he had a good sense of his limitations. He cultivated an image as a swashbuckler and a daredevil but he never really rocked the boat so my peers judged him to be merely eccentric whereas when I finally got a shift on I was a holy terror, a renegade."

"So you didn't go rushing out? That doesn't sound like you, Doc." Remarked Graham.

"I was different back then. At the time, I called myself the Doctor for my scholarly bent not for my compulsive urge to rescue everyone. Even if I didn't have my little bairns² to look after I wouldn't have gone. I had grown up to be like the rest of my race; haughty, aloof and a bit of a cockwomble. Not at all the little hellion my teachers predicted. That all changed when I started travelling with you lot."

Graham, noting the Doctor was being unusually forthcoming, ventured a question. "So how did that start, then?"

"I kidnapped a couple of my granddaughter's teachers." The Doctor admitted sheepishly.

"Why did you do that? That's daft!" Graham exclaimed.

"I don't know!" wailed the Doctor. "They barged into my TARDIS and I decided then and there that they had to come along. My poor granddaughter was mortified. She had some choice words for me, I can tell you!"

"You panicked, didn't you?" Asked Graham slyly.

"Hush you, Mr O'Brien!" Snapped the Doctor. "Anyways, it worked out well for me in the end. I learned mercy, kindness and responsibility. I have had a soft spot for teachers ever since. Though not those scrubs who failed Taylor so badly, obviously."

"Did they ever get home?" Graham asked.

"Barbara and Ian? Yeah, they did. Been married a good long while and living in Cambridge last I heard."

Graham stood up and drained the last of his tea. It was plain as the nose on his face where the Doctor was heading next. "Do you want me to give Ryan and Yaz a bell?".

"No." The Doctor shook her head. "You can't come either. Too dangerous."

"Too dangerous?" Graham demanded angrily. "After what happened to Grace?"

The Doctor looked deeply sad. "Graham, don't! Just don't."

Graham's face fell. The Doctor got out a notepad and pen out of her capacious pockets, began scribbling. "I'd love to bring you all along, I really would. I really need humans along to keep me on the straight and narrow. Or at least, to keep me colouring within the lines."

She finished writing, tore off a leaf and handed it to him. "There is something you can do for me, though. I'll try and come back to tell you how it all went, I promise. But if I'm not back within the year..." She tapped the page. "Then tell everyone on that list where I disappeared to. They deserve to know."

Looking more cheerful now that he was entrusted with a task. Graham grasped her hand. It felt colder than a human hand. "Good luck, Doctor. Safe journey!"

"Thank you." The Doctor said simply. She enfolded Graham in a sudden hug, released him, then turned and left the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Semi-canonical information about the Doctor's family from the original Doctor Who novel "Cold Fusion" by Lance Parkin.


	2. Intervention 1.2, The Doctor

The Doctor when she entered the TARDIS, instead of the console room, found her study waiting for her. It was a proper study, nice and cosy with wooden bookcases lining the walls, a high-backed armchair just right for a good, long brood with hands steepled under chin, and a fire blazing and burning, dancing hypnotically in a fireplace for musing into. Beside the chair was a small table with a balloon glass and a bottle of Napoleon brandy standing by. She loved these classic old tropes.

The TARDIS was generally more circumspect about her ability to control her internal contents. This was needful to avoid scaring the naked apes that regularly infested her lest they kick up a fuss and make more monkey mess than usual .

So she mostly used her reconfiguration ability to twist the corridors of her labyrinth about so that any passengers managed to get to the lavatory on time, or to find the console room; the TARDIS didn't enjoy accidental puddles of piss on her pristine floors or people blundering about getting into where they shouldn't.

The Doctor's companions would be literally be lost without the TARDIS and highly embarassed too. And as there were currently no annoying Earth primates on board, the TARDIS could let down her hair a bit.

"Bless you!" said the Doctor lovingly. The TARDIS replied with an overwhelming scent of pears. She grimaced and sat down in her brooding chair and poured herself a snifter of the brandy, sniffing the strong liquor to clear her nose of the utterly vile stench of pears. "Gah! You know I hate pears! Why don't you do apples like I said." In spite of her disgust her eyes twinkled. The TARDIS made no response to the Doctor's grumbles.

She had gotten the idea of odorous communication from a telly programme about a wondrous warehouse. The TARDIS had implemented the suggestion in her own inimitable way, making it clear who wore the trousers in this relationship.

It was a shame that Earth didn't have a warehouse like that. Yes, they had Torchwood, C-19 and the SCP Foundation, among others, but those were grim and grey institutions devoted to the maxim of keeping things secret and keeping things safe.

Well, not so safe in the case of the Foundation; how many containment breaches did those people deal with per year? Loads. Odd folk, you'd think that if they had an ethics committee they would also have proper health and safety.

Actually, she had once cracked the Foundation's intranet to try and find out. No such luck! The data relating to the topic had been expunged. But she had found her TARDIS and broken her out of containment which had been her other objective at the time. Oh, and saved one of their facilities from destruction, not that the Foundation had been particularly grateful.

Then it struck her that the universe was her warehouse. It contained endless wonders to goggle at, infinite terrors to run from, numberless experiences and sensations, both subtle and gross, to satisfy the appetites of anybody from ascetic cenobite to libertine sybarite. The universe had yet to sate her curiosity or her ability to marvel.

As she sipped her brandy, staring into the fire, she smirked smugly about the fact that she had a better safety record than the SCP Foundation. She then frowned as she considered that although it was technicallly true that few of her companions had died under her watch, she did, more often than she liked, grossly overestimate their strengths.

Take Victoria Waterfield, for instance. Outwardly fragile and timid, one of the screamers, the loudest of them all. But there was steel inside her. Left in her native milieu she might have grown into a formidable Victorian matriarch but taken into adventure after adventure she had broken. Victoria had never truly healed.

Sometimes, her companions did the gross overestimation themselves; exhibit one: Clara Oswin Oswald. She had set herself up as the Doctor's bossy big sister together with the attendant sibling rivalry. They constantly tried to one-up each other in daring and bravado and general imbecility but the Doctor had had centuries of experience in surviving her own acts of reckless stupidity; Clara did not and thus she had died.

And then there were those of her companions who died through ignorance and good intentions.

Katarina had propelled herself and a crazed fugitive out of an airlock in order to prevent her use against the Doctor as a hostage. She had had utter faith in the Doctor, believing her to be Zeus himself. Katarina had had faith in her but hadn't understood her, didn't know her. The Doctor would have settled Kirksen's hash soon enough but Katarina hadn't been with her long, hadn't been aware of the Doctor's reserves of cunning and resourcefulness.

Adric had tried to undo a fixed point in time; the loss of the dinosaurs had been necessary to allow the future existence of humanity. So he had died.

Both these deaths hurt the most because they had been so utterly pointless. If she had only taken but a moment to explain things! Yes, Katarina was a naive primitive who thought she was dead and, outside his mathematical genius, Adric was a bit of an idiot. But that wasn't the point!

But, and here was a rum thing, why hadn't she rescued them? Katarina had been spaced but exposure to vacuum was hardly an insta-kill, no matter what the grisly imaginations of Hollywood would have you believe on the subject. And yes, she had seen the freighter Adric had been on crash but there was no reason to suppose he was on it at the time.

Yes, before she headed out on her quest to Earth Bet she would rescue them, clear her guilt tab, so to speak. Yes, she would do that while she was still around in N-Space¹ to do so.

The Master had once sneeringly dismissed the seemingly endless parade of humans the Doctor took along with her as morality pets. Despite being a complete loony, or maybe because of it, the Master was often deeply insightful, especially where it concerned her.

Because they were indeed morality pets and touchstones of good, plain sense. If she were to travel alone, sparing these few humans, the universe would suffer; as the events concerning poor Adelaide Brooke had proved.

The Doctor felt uneasy about not having someone along but there were humans on Earth Bet and they would have to fill that void. It wasn't that she didn't have a moral compass, she did, but that she had a certainty she was doing the right thing. It was this self-righteousness together with her meddlesome nature that caused all the disasters. She lacked that all-important superpower, common sense. A fault she had fruitlessly tried to correct over her many incarnations.

The flames of the fire flickered, reminding her of endless worlds in flame and the true end of the Corsair's story.

The Corsair had found Earth Bet by finding it and a whole slew of sideways Earths corresponding to it, billions of them, all of them somehow cut off away from the rest of the multiverse. To an old veteran of sideways time travel like the Corsair's TARDIS, getting in had been difficult but not insurmountable. Earth Bet had been the focal point of the isolated worlds. He had tried to discern why these worlds had been seemingly blockaded and then the Daleks had come.

And here was the part of the story that had broken her hearts and which she couldn't bear to tell Graham because Taylor Hebert deserved a happily-ever-after.

The standard procedure of the authorities of Earth Bet for dealing with mind-controlled minions was to kill their master. They somehow identified Taylor as the mind controller in question and a sniper's bullet eliminated her apparent threat, unleashing the imminent threat. Someone hadn't reckoned it through properly; panic has that effect on rational thought. The Daleks were free, angry and vengeful and did what they were best at: extermination.

The Corsair had already fled by this point, watching, from as close as was compatible with safety, on his TARDIS' scanners as the catastrophe unfolded like a drugged up origami crane.

The Daleks fought. The parahumans fought. Both sides lost. For there was a true, unknown threat that ignited Earth Bet and its billions of sister worlds into flame. After that there was nowt but dust and ash, darkness and silence. All gone. All those people; so many that even the Doctor couldn't understand their numbers let alone comprehend them. Too many anyroad. And the blockade had also gone.

Then the Corsair had discovered another string of cut-off Earths, isolated the same way as the others he had found. Again his TARDIS broke the blockade and went to the focal point, arriving on another Earth Bet. It had the same people, the same set of parahumans, another Taylor Hebert. He had been unnerved and had retreated to Gallifrey to take counsel from both his friends and his mentors which was how the Doctor had heard the story.

She couldn't save that Earth Bet, it was a fixed point in time, if it hadn't been destroyed she wouldn't have heard the story from the Corsair. But maybe she could help that other Earth Bet and that other Taylor Hebert. That was her mission if she chose to accept it which she did. Oh, how she did!

Getting there should have been fairly straightforward. Go down in time before the Time War, go sideways, go up in time again, and Ohm's² your uncle.

However, the walls between the sideways worlds and N-Space had been thickened in every possible time the TARDIS could reach. The Last Great Time War had had lasting effects, timelocked and nigh inaccesible as it was.

She had used the entire energy of a supernova to just say a few words of farewell to Rose who had been trapped on the zeppelined Earth of Lumic's Cybermen. She would need a cosmic catastrophe with more oomph. A neutron star merger should do it. Better yet, a black hole collision.

And she would need a way of keeping the TARDIS connected to the home universe; the old girl needed her energy. She performed intricate equations in her head. A wormhole, tricky but doable. And the Corsair had given her the exact coordinates after all and she could recall them perfectly. Memory like an elephant. So she was all set. Yet she hesitated as she so seldom did before a grand adventure.

"Well, sitting on my arse all day long, maundering on to myself, won't buy the baby a new bonnet! Onward and outward!"

And with that, quaffing the rest of her brandy, she got up, left the study, and into the console room. Up to the console she went and-

Her hand froze. "You've already input the coordinates!" She pouted at the time rotor. "I'm perfectly capable of..."

Her voice trailed off into embarassment as she realised that she had misremembered the coordinates the Corsair had given her. The TARDIS had also set the coordinates for a likely black hole merger. The Doctor flushed.

"Thanks!" she muttered to the TARDIS, pulled the dematerialisation lever towards her and brought it down with a resolute thunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) In the Doctor Who continuity, N-Space is our universe.
> 
> 2) Semi-canonical name for a Gallifreyan deity. Also, an alternate name for the Time Lord solar engineer, Omega. See the original Doctor Who novel "The Infinity Doctors" by Lance Parkin.


	3. Intervention 1.3, The Doctor

Today was the day when the Doctor would finally meet Taylor Hebert: 10 April 2011. Well, today and change; according to the Corsair, Taylor was scheduled to fight the supervillain Lung in the wee hours of 11 April. The Doctor had been working towards this meeting for years. Literally.

In a world where a broad array of parahuman precognitive, pericognitive and postcognitive powers existed, she had realised that she just couldn't wing it with psychic paper and her customary motormouth babble. She would need a proper legend, a real, backstopped identity and she had just the thing in her box of tricks to achieve that very thing: the Chameleon Arch. Oh, and also a handy little gadget to tamp down any temporal divergence caused by her presence; a butterfly net it was nicknamed¹.

So a short hop back to West Yorkshire in 1982 and, after painful cellular reconstruction, she became a wee, human bairn. Careful prior arrangements with and discreet bribes to an adoption agency and she had a fairly well-to-do middle-class family. Eighteen years later and she was attending the Leeds School of Medicine. Five years of medical training plus, because she was still an insufferable clever clogs, one year of an intercalated degree in veterinary medicine as well as another year in parahuman physiology and psychology. Then she began a stint as a junior doctor at Jimmys². 

So she had an identity as one Jodie Auckland Whittaker, a National Insurance number, a National Insurance Number, a National Health Service number, a British passport, teenage crushes, childhood friends, childhood pets, doting grandparents and dotty aunts, rambunctious cousins, caring albeit vicariously ambitious parents, the works. Nobody, even the seriously paranoid, would suspect her of being an alien cuckoo

She had an odd, hollow, nagging feeling in her hearts: guilt. The Whittakers had taken her in, loved her, worried over her, were proud of her. And they would likely never know what had happened to their daughter; there would be no closure. No matter what justifications or rationalisations she made to herself, the Doctor had to admit that she had done an extremely bad thing there, an extremely bad thing. It was mean, it was hurtful. The lives of untold trillions and necessity be damned, she should be better than this!

She resolved that after all this was over she would return to the Whittakers and come clean. After all their love and care, they deserved an explanation and an apology. She hoped they would forgive her. May Time, Death and Pain³ damn her idiot enthusiasm for horribly stupid plots and notions!

This! This was why she took humans with her. They could see the small things that she missed, could see the flaws in her ideas and plans. This lack of human guidance would be remedied as soon as possible if she had anything to do with it.

That idyllic life as the daughter of Mr and Mrs Whittaker had had to come to an end. She had entrusted her biodata module to the TARDIS (for who else could she trust with it?), let her choose the moment the Doctor would be restored to her true self: the Oncoming Storm, the Bringer of Darkness, the Ka Faraq Gatri⁴, the Predator, the Great Wizard Qui Quae Quod, the Goblin of the Pandorica.

Two years into being a junior doctor, her human identity had had an emotional crisis, summat intense enough that it would cause a trigger event in a parahuman. Paediatrics can be heartbreaking, paediatric oncology even more so. And so the TARDIS returned her to temporal grace, a Time Lord once more, together with a handy pretext for the employment of technology beyond the capability of Earth Bet's baseline industry to produce.

Albeit with a newfound passion for pears and a detestation for apples. Needless to say, the TARDIS had greeted her with the smell of apples when she had come back into her own. Chameleon Arches were pretty chancy bits of gear which nobody with any sense used unless they had to. She wondered what else had changed in her.

It wasn't just the Doctor who had to jolly well pull her socks up, the TARDIS too had to up her game. It would be disastrous if parahuman tinkers or thinkers, or worse, Saint and his Dragonslayers, got their grubby, little paws on her.

The Doctor had set herself to repairing the TARDIS chameleon circuit and found, to her immense astonishment, that it was not broken or busted or buggered up in any way whatsoever. What had happened was that she had failed to notice, in their many centuries of travelling together, that the manual override for the chameleon circuit was set to TARDIS discretion. In short, the TARDIS chose to look like a 20th Century British police box. 

The override had seized up and the operator manual had indicated that it wasn't user-serviceable, even by the Doctor. However, she had found a Celestial Intervention Agency homing beacon cunningly hidden in the very last place she would have looked; the user manual. Cheeky buggers, the CIA.

Well, the Doctor had had to ask the TARDIS nicely and she had come up trumps, her door was currently masquerading as the back of an empty closet in a warehouse in the former Docks district of Brockton Bay, New Hampshire which she had bought, refurbished, furnished, equipped and discretely fortified. She had also installed a perception filter to dissuade possible intruders. The TARDIS also had her emission dampeners on, although there was still a bit too much leakage of artron energy for her liking; which couldn't be helped. 

There was a whole day to be filled up before midnight. There was kit to be checked on and repaired, databases to be infiltrated or cracked, TARDIS sensor readings to be looked over and interpreted, maps of Brockton Bay to be pored over, the data chip the Corsair had given her in that long ago to be perused for the umpteenth time. Busy! Busy! Busy!

It was funny about that data chip, she had left it behind in her private apartments on Gallifrey so a little side-trip had been necessary. On this occasion, she just asked politely if she could fetch summat from her rooms and they had let her!

She should try that again next time; it had worked so well and she hadn't needed to overthrow Gallifrey's High Council again. Always such a bore, that. She was brilliant at revolutions but the business of governing was so tedious; all that paperwork with flunkeys and lackeys getting underfoot. No! No! No!

So she had the data chip, a few useful odds and ends, and personal treasures such as her portrait of Patience⁵ which now had pride of place next to the one of River Song.

And there had been other chores to be completed in N-Space before she had departed for Earth Bet. She had rescued Katarina and Adric! Oh, and Kirksen too. That madman had been remanded to a reputable mental institution. As for Adric and Katarina, they had been left in the care of Irving Braxiatel⁶ who was certainly up to the job of keeping an eye on them; he had survived Bernice Summerfield⁷, hadn't he?

Well now, it was time for her to get her skates on. She murmured a command phrase and a suit of gleaming, red armour, its helmet having a polarised visor to hide her face, materialised around her person. It was an example of the emergency response gear that one of the 26th Century descendents of the Order of Knights of the Hospital of St John in Jerusalem wore. It was emblazoned on front and back with a white Maltese cross.

She briefly wondered if she should have gotten official permission to wear it but she had after all been inducted into the Order for services rendered. That had been a bad business in Rhodes back then, very bad.

The suit's sensors had been augmented by the Doctor and it now had a fair number of additional scanning modes that had not been present in the original armour. Also, a 43rd Century hammerspace module from New Osaka had been retrofitted. Very handy that, she need only subvocalise the command and it would swap with her clothes, and vice versa. No awkward fumbling and bumbling. Plus, the hammerspace was capable of storing any additional bits and pieces that she might need. It was not classed as a suit of powered armour by 26th Century standards but it would hold its own on Earth Bet.

She left the TARDIS and walked into the warehouse. She activated her suit's stealth field; it had proven invaluable in Africa, the Balkans and the Middle East.

She had spent a year in Leed's local cape scene after her supposed trigger; she had built a reputation as an altruistic tinker specialising in rescue work. She had joined the Guild, a Canada-based international team of capes who performed peacekeeping duties, striving to stop atrocities, and impose civility and humanity in places where it had been lost. She had aided in their relief efforts. It was on one of those excursions that she had encountered Saint. Such a horrible, little man! Not small in body, being a tall and muscular fellow, but small in spirit.

Presently, she left the warehouse into the darkness shrouding the noisome, potholed streets of the Docks. Public lighting had been vandalised or looted but her suit's sensors cut through the shadows.

Once, Brockton Bay had been a thriving port city but since the coming of Leviathan, the shipping had dwindled to a trickle and the money had fled for better economic climes. There were few businesses and these were heavily barred and shuttered.

There were pawnshops for sacrificed treasures and fenced goods, liquor stores selling rotgut and oblivion, minimarts selling the cheapest and shoddiest necessities of life, bookmakers selling dreams of good fortune that led to bad luck, hidden brothels selling the lowest, possible, common denominator of love. There was profit even in misery and poverty; it was a universal pattern.

She saw passed out drunks, prostitutes, gangbangers, drug dealers and their customers, the furtive, the frightened and desperate, all scuttling in that unlighted obscurity. And no real practical way for her to succor them.

She brought up a map of Brockton Bay on her helmet's heads-up display. The trouble with maps were that they weren't the territory. Summat was always missed out and she was having problems reconciling cartography with actuality. So tramp, tramp, tramp as she monitored her suit's sensors when suddenly a strong infrared signature registered on the HUD, fifty metres away.

She ran swiftly, making a mental note to add a flight system to her armour. She heard a human roar of pain and rage echo down the street before almost being bowled over by Asian youths in red and green gang colours pursued by clouds of insects. Azn Bad Boys. ABB. Lung's gang.

She arrived at the location of the heat bloom to see a blazing, humanoid figure, almost certainly Lung, jump across a street to almost reach the roof of the building opposite.

A slim, frail figure, this was very likely Taylor Hebert, was crouched up there and began fumbling in a compartment on her back as Lung began to climb onto the roof, taloned hands digging into the brickwork.

A small object was retrieved and then the Doctor's spectoscopic sensors registered a chemical burst: water, propylene glycol and capsaicin; pepper spray. The spray missed Lung's face, hitting his shoulder and exploding into a small fireball.

A second burst of pepper spray. Lung screamed, clutching his face, and almost fell off the roof. Almost became completely as the Doctor nudged him off the roof with her suit's remote manipular fields.

Lung hit the pavement and snarled. "Motherfucker!".

He shook his head and that seemed to clear his vision as he sent a sheet of flame up towards Taylor. With no warning, a massive shape leapt down from up and right and crashed onto Lung.

Now what? Thought the Doctor worriedly. Whatever it was, it was as big as a whole squad of Judoon put together, looking like a cross between a sabre-toothed tiger and a velociraptor.

She aimed a T-ray scanner at it. There was a smaller shape within the larger beast which was...Was that a dog? Yes, it was which meant that..."Brilliant! A mecha for dogs!" She grinned in delight. Made of organics, not metal or ceramic, but still a mecha. 

There came a sharp whistle from the rooftop and two more of the dog-mecha-beasts pounced on Lung from above. On the roof, Taylor seemed to be in conversation with four people.

There was a blonde girl in a purple and black bodysuit, a taller burly male in motorcycle leathers and a skull-masked helmet, a shorter slimmer male with a white theatre mask and silver coronet, dressed like a Regency buck and a grungily-dressed, solid-looking girl with a cheap, dog mask and gingerish hair. Tattletale, Grue, Regent, Hellhound. Hellhound was responsible for the enhanced dogs. The Undersiders.

The Doctor's auditory pickups heard the hum of a superbly-tuned motorcycle in the distance. There were more whistles from above, one short, two long. The dogs stopped mauling Lung and jumped up to the roof, the Undersiders then mounted them, then they were gone with the clatter and clang of clawed feet on a fire escape.

She dropped her armour's stealth field and approached Lung. She summoned a diagnostic sensor wand from hammerspace and swept it over his body. The sensor wand told her he was unconscious with some sort of active regeneration at work. This regeneration was faltering under the load as a flood of toxins attacked his system: bees, wasps, black widows and brown recluses. Nasty! She gave him a shot of epinephrine to keep him stable. Oh, and the giant dog thing bites and puncture wounds from claws didn't help either. But his regeneration had managed to stop the bleeding at least so she satisfied herself with spraying antiseptic in his wounds.

"You can get down." the Doctor looked up at Taylor. "He won't be getting up from this in a hurry. You're safe now." Taylor disappeared from view, her footsteps lightly clunking on the fire escape, then she reappeared from an alleyway.

Face-to-face at last! Well, mask-to-mask, anyroad. "My cape name's Dr Who!" proclaimed the Doctor in a bright, friendly voice. "What's yours?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Butterfly nets are used by the Alien Space Bats of the Alternate History website.
> 
> 2) Jimmys is the nickname for the St James University Hospital in Leeds.
> 
> 3) Time, Death and Pain are semi-canonical Time Lord deities. They were mentioned in original Doctor Who novels published by Virgin Books during the 1990s.
> 
> 4) According to semi-canonical sources, the phrase Ka Faraq Gatri means Destroyer of Worlds in the Dalek language.
> 
> 5) Patience is the semi-canonical Gallifreyan wife of the Doctor. She appears in the original Doctor Who novel "Cold Fusion" by Lance Parkin.
> 
> 6) Irving Braxiatel is the semi-canonical brother of the Doctor. He was introduced in the New Adventures series of original Doctor Who novels.
> 
> 7) Bernice Summerfield is the semi-canonical of the Seventh Doctor. She appeared in most of the New Adventures series of original Doctor Who novels.


	4. Intervention 1.4, The Doctor

Taylor paused. "I haven't thought of a name yet." she confessed.

"Okey-dokey!" said the Doctor. "Mind if I give you a look-over? Trust me, I'm a doctor. Got a medical degree and everything!"

She waved her diagnostic wand about. "That was a rhetorical question. I was going to do that, anyroad. OK, you're a bit shocky and really knackered. No big surprise, that. Make sure you get a good night's rest when you get home."

"It's school tomorrow." Taylor objected.

"Well, I give you permission to skive off tomorrow. Doctor's orders!"

The Doctor turned from Taylor as the motorbike arrived, bearing an armoured figure in midnight blue with silver highlights, a halberd clipped to his back. He had a triangular visor pointing down over his upper face; it gave him the look of a bird of prey. A neatly trimmed goatee graced his chin.

Suddenly, she noticed the universe trying to split in two. Early on in the Time War, the Daleks had employed the tactic of extending quantum supersition and delaying quantum decoherence so that they could try several different courses of action at once, keeping in contact with their alternate selves then collapsing these timelines to the one that was most advantage to them. As a time-sensitive species the Time Lords could easily perceive this and used their TARDISes to collapse things to the Daleks' dismayed disadvantage. Fun times!

Ever since she had arrived in Brockton Bay she had several times felt the splitting of the universe. The TARDIS had collapsed the quantum superpositions and brought the Doctor back to a single track as was happening now. There was a parahuman power at work here; either a Tinker or a Shaker. If they were a bad guy the Doctor hoped they were miserable. If they were a good guy? Well, she had to err on the side of caution here because the Daleks would be here in just over a month and she didn't need the distraction. So hard Cheddar with big, hairy bollocks on, heroes!

And the universe was one again. Showtime!

"Armsmaster!" greeted the Doctor. "We met during the Behemoth attack at Ignalina² last year. How are your arm and shoulder?"

He was the leader of the local branch of the Protectorate, a heroic organisation that spanned most of North America.

"Dr Who." replied that worthy who gave her a curt nod. "My arm and shoulder are functioning perfectly. You do efficient work. Panacea remarked to that effect when I had her check them over."

"Panacea said that? That was kind of her!" The Doctor moved her sensor wand across Armsmaster's right shoulder and arm. "Going to give you another once over. Hmmm..."

"Yes?" he asked.

"Oh, your arm and shoulder are fine but I'm getting some odd readings here." She frowned under her visor. "May I?"

"Please do." He assented.

She swept her sensor over his body, concentrating on his head.

She looked at the readings on her visor's HUD. "Oh, dear! That can't be good. How are you sleeping? And another thing! What are you eating?"

"I have been taking a tinker drug to reduce my need for sleep and eating tinker-made ration cubes. They make time and save time." He replied.

She was aghast at his stupidity. "Thought as much. I recognise the drug, or at least, I've seen summat similar with a related chemical structure." She had. Dreadful stuff! Yet another winner from the Morpheus Corporation³. What had they been thinking?

"I can tell you that long term use causes REM sleep to permanently cease with an associated loss of creativity."

She lifted her visor so she could give Armsmaster a proper scowl. Masks were a silly idea. "Am I scaring you yet?".

"Also, erectile dysfunction, narcissism and an inability to empathise." She continued. "All these side-effects are a detriment to your personal relationships, your capability to lead Brockton Bay's Protectorate and your tinkering."

She gave him an extremely intent look. "To put it in a nutshell... Stop. Taking. That. Bloody. Drug!"

He appeared shocked. Hard to tell with the armour and that wretched visor hiding his face. "You're telling the truth. You have evidence that supports that?"

"I have indeed. I'll give it to you later. Very technical but you must know oodles of chemistry, given your specialty."

He specialised in miniaturisation. He had more gadgets packed into his trademark halberd than Batman had bat-whatevers tucked into his utility belt. Plus, he knew how to wield that six foot monstrosity of his. She had seen Swiss mercenaries use them during the Fifteenth Century. Bloody lethal. Bloody being the appropriate term; she had actually witnessed Charles the Bold, the last duke of Burgundy, killed by one. Halberds had serious form.

"You also mentioned my diet."

"Oh, yeah. Your body is in famine mode."

"What!?"

"Your body is showing definite symptoms of autocannibalisation. I can see early signs of muscle wastage here. Those ration cubes of yours may well have all the correct ingredients but your body is not recognising them as food and is acting accordingly. You must feel ravenous when you're not engrossed in your work."

Armsmaster huffed and... was he pouting?

"I understand you work closely with Dragon. I'll get in touch with her and ask her to keep an eye on you. I have this feeling you're going to be a difficult patient."

He coughed uncomfortably. "I'll make sure your prisoners are taken into custody. And you might want to close your visor."

The Doctor ignored this sage advice. The Parahuman Response Team, the paramilitary service that provided oversight and support to the Protectorate, very likely already knew her identity as Josie Auckland and she didn't care that Taylor could see her face seeing as how she intended to befriend the girl. Besides, how could she give Armsmaster a good old glare with her face hidden?

She reflected that perhaps the constant violence between parahumans was aggravated by the masks they wore. They couldn't read each other's faces which led to misunderstandings which led to violence. It was the same with anonymity on the internet. Body language and facial expression were necessary for clearer understanding. Without those you got cape battles among parahumans and flame wars online.

"Prisoners?" She asked, puzzled.

"Lung and the parahuman with you." He answered.

"I'm a good guy!" exclaimed Taylor indignantly.

"You don't look like one." He commented.

"It's the colour." said the Doctor to Taylor. "Heroes are supposed to go for primary colours." She thought of her sixth incarnation and shuddered theatrically. "One of my earlier efforts looked like an explosion in a rainbow factory. It would have qualified as a Shaker effect in its own right. It. Was. Hideous."

Taylor sighed. "I was about halfway through making my costume when I realised it was a lot more edgy than I'd reckoned on. And I couldn't do anything about it by then."

She considered Taylor's bodysuit. It was grey in colour and skintight with overlapping black armour plates like those on a roly-poly on her chest, tummy, back and major joints. Her mask had large, yellow lenses over the eyes and had armour pieces fixed to it to resemble the mandibles of an insect. Her long, dark, curly hair flowed freely through the back of the mask. It was probably very creepy if you were a human.

She briefly wondered if Taylor was eating properly; the teen was rail-thin and appeared fragile. But no, the meagreness was natural to the child; she was not anorexic.

"There's one hero who doesn't go in for the primary colours and has a grey costume. You're an Alexandria fan, am I right?"

"Yeah, I am."

"It's a very good costume, an excellent costume. Spider silk. A taffetta weave, multiple layers, to offset the stretchiness and summat to stiffen and waterproof it?"

Taylor wondered how the Doctor knew that but then realised that power medical sensors such as the Doctor's could very likely analyse organic substances.

"I used Shoor-Stiph." She replied.

"Oh, good choice! And your costume is very thematic. Love the chitin armour. You look every inch an insect queen."

"Um, thanks! I think."

The Doctor noticed Armsmaster approaching Lung, his halberd pointing at the prone villain. "Oy! What do you think you are doing?

"I was about to inject Lung with a tranquiliser I've developed. It counteracts his regeneration." He said stiffly.

"Not a good idea. He's got massive amounts of spider, bee and wasp venom in his bloodstream. The regeneration is the only thing keeping him alive. He'll be lucky not to have his unmentionables drop off. Weaver here made sure his family jewels got a lot of care and attention."

"Weaver?" asked Taylor.

"We have to call you summat and it could be worse; the PRT likes giving names to people who haven't already chosen one. You think Chubster wanted to be called that? Knowing the PRT they'd call you summat ghastly like Skitter."

"Why Weaver?"

The Doctor pointed at Taylor's costume and grinned. "Because you are."

"Oh."

The Doctor went to examine Lung, found that in the meantime he had destabilised.

"Armsmaster, you'll need to get this man proper medical attention. You'll need antivenins for Black Widow and Brown Recluse venoms at the very least. Do you have epinephrine in that halberd of yours?"

"Yes."

"Give him a couple of standard doses." She could have done this herself but felt that Armsmaster needed summat useful to do.

Armsmaster proceeded to inject Lung with epinephrine. She noticed with relief that Lung's vital signs had restabilised.

"I hadn't meant to hurt him that badly. Will I get into trouble?" asked Taylor quietly.

"No, you won't be in any trouble, pet." said the Doctor reassuringly. "You were as gentle as you could be given your powers. He wasn't messing about and he would have killed you if he could."

"I could have died!"

"That's why we have the Wards programme." Armsmaster stated with authority.

He didn't expand on that statement which surprised the Doctor. She would have expected a hard sell for the Wards. This was the junior branch of the Protectorate that had underage parahumans as members. She would have also expected him to employ scare tactics such as the fact that independent heroes only lasted about six months. They tended to be either killed or coopted into a group.

"Now, we need to decide who gets credit for Lung's capture." declared Armsmaster.

Oh, bugger! She thought. She was beginning to dislike the man's officiousness.

"If we must." She muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) The Doctor has given Armsmaster the chewing out that many of you were doubtless hoping for but it's likely more motherly than you expected.
> 
> 2) In the real world, Ignalina in Lithuania was the site of a nuclear power station until it was finally decommissioned in 2009. On Earth Bet, the Lithuanians kept it in operation until its forcible decommisioning by Behemoth.
> 
> 3) See the New Doctor Who episode "Sleep No More".


	5. Intervention 1.5, The Doctor

"Well, that's the easy part." said the Doctor briskly. "Weaver, Hellhound and myself in that order. But that's not what you mean, is it?"

"Lung's got two lieutenants, Oni Lee and Bakuda. They'll be looking to free their boss and get revenge." replied Armsmaster. "Hellhound?"

"The Undersiders were present. Lung was hunting them. I'll give you my helmet footage later."

"Could either of you have taken them?"

"Weaver would have gotten her bottom soundly kicked if she had. She's not a match for Hellhound's dogs, you know. And I was too far away to reach them in time. Now let me think!"

Oni Lee had line of sight teleportation. He left a temporary copy of himself behind when he jaunted. A temporary copy armed to the teeth with temporary copies of the grenades and knives he carried. Temporary copies of grenades that could still blow up, temporary of knives that could slash, temporary copies of things that could maim or kill people. Temporary copies that would last just long enough that when Oni Lee made swift, sequential teleports, he would leave behind him a one-man army of suicide bombers and knife-wielding berserkers all over the place. Bakuda was unknown to the Doctor. But bakudan did mean 'bomb' in Japanese so were they a-

"Bomb tinker! Bakuda's a bomb Tinker. Yes?"

"Indeed. She's the Cornell Bomber. She specialises in bombs. And with Oni Lee as a delivery system..."

"Crikey! Yes, I think I can see where you're going with this. It's very generous of you to shoulder the blame for taking down Lung and take the heat off Weaver but I'm afraid that the cat's already out of the bag. In fact, not only out of the bag but standing on your chest at silly o'clock demanding a nine-course meal and that you clean out their litter tray. Plus, you'll step in cold cat puke as soon as you're out of bed to do the moggie's bidding."

She was positive that he must have been blinking in astonishment under his visor. She had that effect on people.

"How do you mean?" He asked.

"I went past a bunch of ABB lads coming from the opposite direction. Exeunt, pursued by bees."

She turned her face towards Taylor. "I think your bugs kept following the last set of orders you gave them. Summat to bear in mind for later. They should be OK, I think. None of 'em looked like members of the sick, lame and lazy brigade. Been doing their cardio."

"Which means that the ABB will add things up and know it's Weaver." He concluded.

"Yeah. You would, of course, be in favour of membership in the Wards." She noticed a sudden stiffening in Taylor's posture.

"Membership in the Wards can provide support and aid in case of an altercation with ABB capes."

"Under most circumstances, I would agree with you. But not in Brockton Bay with the current set-up. Oh, no."

"Why not?" Asked Taylor. She had expected the Doctor to side with Armsmaster on this.

"Bit of a long story, Weaver. You OK with being called Weaver? It was a bit presumptuous of me to give you that name without asking."

"Finding a bug-themed name which wasn't either villainous or dorky... Harder than I thought."

Armsmaster chuckled. He sounded surprisingly warm and human. "I wouldn't know, myself. I got into the game early enough that not all the good names were taken."

"Let's use Weaver. It's better than anything I could have come up with."

Armsmaster went to his motorbike and retrieved a metallic object from a storage compartment. He then approached Lung and a few moments of shimmery unfurling later, the villain was enclosed in a cage.

"Now, you were about to tell us your reasons why Weaver shouldn't join the Wards."

"It begins with Ellisburg. You've heard of Nilbog, haven't you, Weaver?"

Taylor nodded. She couldn't quite see how a notorious S-Class threat, who had taken over an entire town and was literally walled in by the outside world, had anything to do with the Brockton Bay Wards.

"Well, about ten years ago, the town of Ellisburg fell off the grid and parahuman involvement was thought to be responsible. Now, the PRT were quite new back then and didn't have the institutional knowledge they have today. So they went in mob-handed with a platoon of elite PRT troopers plus capes from a nearby Protectorate branch. No Thinker oversight or analysis or anything."

"And they marched into a trap." Armsmaster interjected. "There were only two survivors among the troopers, one of whom is Emily Piggot."

"She's the Director of Brockton's Bay's PRT, isn't she?" Asked Taylor. "I didn't know she was at Ellisburg. What happened to the capes?"

"They scarpered, the lot of 'em."

"To be fair, the capes in question didn't have the right power sets for the operation." Armsmaster commented.

"True that and I'm pretty sure that Director Piggot knows it. But it's what she feels about Ellisburg, not what she thinks or knows, that's the problem."

"How so?" Taylor asked.

"Emily Piggot received crippling injuries. The muscles in her lower legs were severely damaged, her kidneys were destroyed. She keeps going through iron willpower and spite."

Armsmaster began to object. "Actually..." He paused. "Actually, that's a pretty fair assessment of her."

"She's an anti-parahuman bigot because of what happened, because of the apparent betrayal of those capes, because Nilbog killed all her mates; military units are like families. All that cut deep, very deep, she still bleeds. She knows this and tries her damnedest to be fair. She's not a bad person but she is an embittered one. Her soul was hurt, if you know what I mean, and it's never healed."

"How do you know all this?" Asked Armsmaster. "I'm sure a lot of this is classified data."

"Some of it is from Guild files. I'm a member as you know. The rest is me building inferences from unclassified data. Plus, I think Weaver needs to know what she could be getting into with the Wards, classified data or not."

"I'm still a bit unclear. The Wards are under the Protectorate not the PRT, right?" Taylor asked.

"In most cities with a PRT branch that's the case but not in Brockton Bay. Here, the Wards are under the authority of the PRT."

"You're afraid that Director Piggot, through unconscious bias, will endanger Weaver?" Armsmaster was thoughtful. He couldn't deny that the Director was at best politely hostile to parahumans. He was thinking of the Wards whose control he had yielded to Piggot. Had he put them in danger, thereby?

"Bingo! And with the Protectorate being outnumbered by the villains, the Wards need to step up to the crease which means they get into more cape fights. Also, with regard to Director Piggot, once a soldier, always a soldier. It's a war and she will use any resource if she feels it necessary to achieve victory."

She frowned ferociously at Armsmaster. She wish she'd kept her last incarnation's attack eyebrows. They had conferred a certain something to scowls and glares, glowers and frowns.

"Which includes the Brockton Bay Wards.They get into a hell of a lot more fights in a week than most Protectorate teams in other cities do in a month. I came across far too many child solders down in Africa. I definitely don't approve, to put it mildly. And I heard that Vista got cut up by Hookwolf and had to sew up her own wound. Is that true? It's so out of order if it is."

Vista was a young adolescent girl who had the power to stretch and compress space. Fascinating.

"It's true, unfortunately. Your reasoning's sound; it's certainly something to chew on. Now, I have to take Lung into custody."

Armsmaster gave the Doctor and Taylor his card. "That's got my email and phone number If you need to contact me. I can also be reached on Parahumans Online."

The Doctor handed him a thumb drive. "Oh, nearly forgot! That's the visual and audio feed from my suit sensors. That should come in handy. Also, the data on the relative of that stimulant you've been using."

Abusing more like. But she felt it more politic to keep quiet for once, she'd already scolded him about it. Nobody likes being nagged. She had already sent Dragon an email. It was plain to many Guild members that Dragon was sweet on Armsmaster. Let her do the nagging.

"Thank you. Ah, we haven't decided what to do about Weaver."

"It's more the case that Weaver hasn't decided what to do about herself. I can give her another option she can choose to take."

"You're thinking of taking her on as your sidekick?"

"I think what you meant to say was partner, not sidekick. Am I right? And that's yes. I do want to ask her if she wants to team up with me."

"I see. I'd have no objections to that."

"Oh, and another thing. Be sure to give Weaver complete credit for Lung's takedown. I did knock him off the roof with my manipular fields but, to be honest, I think he was going to fall off anyroad."

"I'll see what I can do." And with that, Armsmaster attached the cage, it had wheels, to his motorbike, mounted his machine and sped off.

Taylor looked at the Doctor. "You gonna make your pitch now?"

"I reckon so. I specialise in rescue work. I'm a fireman, a paramedic, a peacekeeper. All the good stuff. You can look me up online. I'm a member of the Guild and you have to be a good egg to join it. I won't be looking to get into fights, just help the poor folk who get to be collateral damage, but you'd be surprised how often people object to that. Know what's more dangerous than being a cape?"

"No."

"Being a non-parahuman member of the Red Cross or Medecins sans Frontieres in a warzone¹. They're braver than almost anyone else I know, aid workers. Met quite a few of them while working for the Guild."

"How would I help you?"

"I have great sensors, brilliant sensors, but often metallic debris blocks them. I take it you can sense through your creepie-crawlies?"

Taylor nodded.

"Well, you could send them skittering through a collapsed house, say, and find the people I can't."

"I can do that. I know where each of my bugs is, can tell each one what to do."

"That's a marvellous power you got there, Weaver. Oh, and you can make bandages!"

"Bandages?"

"Spidersilk has excellent antiseptic properies. It's used as part of folk medicine in some places."

"Will I get dental?"

"Oh, I think I can manage the odd filling. And I'll take you through a first aid course and teach owt else you might need to know. And self-defense training, I know a bit of Aikido."

"What school of Aikido?" Taylor had looked up martial arts online but had found she was too broke to afford any training.

"Kinsei²."

Well, The Doctor couldn't outright say it was Venusian Aikido, could she? She would come across as more of a complete nutter than she usually did. She had often been described as one of the few two-armed beings to master the art but it was more accurate to say that she was one of the few practitioners not to have radial symmetry. Nice people, the Venusians³, very nice. Their funerary customs were interesting; they consumed the brains of their dead. These tasted like chocolate and transferred their memories to the partaker. It was shame the Venusians had gone extinct all those billions of years ago back in N-Space.

So do you want to join up? It can be dangerous work but I'll do my best to keep you as safe as possible. It's a woman's life in Dr Who's Army!"

Taylor giggled. "Don't you mean a man's life?"

"I don't see any of the rough chaps who shave here, do you? Want to put the grrr into girl, Weaver?"

"Why are you being so nice to me? You barely know me! I mean..."

The mingled hope and suspicion in Taylor's voice wrung the Doctor's hearts. From the Corsair's files she knew the girl had been systematically let down by almost all adult authority figures. Danny Hebert, Taylor's father, had done his best, given his infirmity, but Taylor might not have grasped the depth of Danny's depression, would have seen him as yet another useless grown-up.

"It's the way me mother put me hat on, luv. I see someone in need, I help them."

Taylor was silent for a good long while, evidently thinking it over. The Doctor kept shtumm, not wanting to ruin things. Beginnings were tricky matters, so much could go wrong.

"OK. I'm in." Taylor said finally.

Taylor began to remove her mask. The Doctor put her a restraining hand on her arm.

"You're not under any obligation to unmask to me, you know. Just because I did doesn't mean you should."

"I understand that. But if we're going to be heroes together...

Taylor took off her mask. The Doctor saw a thin face framed by long, dark, almost black, curly hair with large, bespectacled, grey-blue eyes, a large, thin-lipped, expressive mouth. About fifteen or sixteen, she would judge, and very tall, taller than her. A pretty girl. She wouldn't grow up to be a head-turner but she wouldn't lack for suitors if she wanted them.

"I'm Jodie Whittaker." 

"Taylor Hebert. Pleased to meet you, Jodie."

"Pleased to meet you too, Taylor. Well, I reckon it's probably a bit late to be chatting now. How about we call it a night and meet up at Starbucks on the Boardwalk tomorrow afternoon? Two o'clock suit you?"

"OK. That sounds fine. Um, can I bring my Dad along?"

"So he can size up the cut of my jib? Of course you may bring your Dad along."

"Dad doesn't know I'm a cape yet. I'll tell him when I get home."

"That would be a good idea. Even my parents know and they don't need to, me supposedly being a mature and responsible adult. By the way, don't spread it about concerning the responsible adult part or we'll be at sixes and sevens. Because it's a fib, a damned lie, possibly a statistic."

Taylor laughed. A joyful sound. The Doctor could never properly sell the story that she was a responsible adult. Not even psychic paper and utter gullibility on the part of the person she was trying to convince could manage that.

"You haven't mentioned your Mum?"

Taylor's laughter died instantly. "Mom died in a car crash two years ago.

The Doctor cursed herself. This was not a question she needed to ask as she had already known the answer but her mouth had run away from her. Again. She felt ashamed.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, pet. I'm so so sorry."

She dismissed her armour into hammerspace and gave Taylor a hug. Startled, Taylor resisted at first but soon leaned into her embrace. The poor mite hasn't had much physical affection come her way of late thought the Doctor. Hugging was important.

She let go of Taylor.

"Well, time to get going. Good night, Taylor. Take care, hon. See you tomorrow!"

"Good night, Jodie!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) This is also true of the real world. The Red Cross and similar NGOs are not supposed to be military targets but they all too often are. 
> 
> 2) Kinsei is the Japanese word for Venus.
> 
> 3) See the original Doctor Who novel "Venusian Lullaby" by Paul Leonard.


	6. Intervention 1.6, Taylor Hebert

It had been the best of nights, it had been the worst of nights, and Taylor was trying to decide which it had been. Her swarm was on outrider duty, finding where the people were located so she could avoid them as she wended her careful way home. She was so not in the mood for more fights tonight.

She had decided to head out on her first patrol as a cape a week earlier than she had originally planned. The bullying at school, the indifference of the teachers, all these had been an inexorable pressure that had pushed her into the events of this night.

She had wanted so badly, so badly that it had caused her actual pain, to lash out and pull a Carrie White¹, to direct her bugs into a frenzy of stinging and biting, scratching and blinding, smothering and hurting. But she had managed, barely, to forbear. She had the half-healed crescents of fingernail wounds in her palms in token of this forbearance, the stigmata of self-restraint.

She just wanted to get by, to be ignored and left alone. If she had drowned the whole of Winslow High in a chitinous tide of chittering, chirruping, buzzing doom, the PRT and Protectorate would never have let her be, would never have left her alone. Ever.

So much time and thought and imagination had been expended on her dream of being a superhero. It was something for her to look forward to, it was something for her to escape into, it was something to hide her from herself. It was not something to be lightly thrown away in a burst of vengeance and violence.

So no, she had decided she was better than that, that even if Winslow had broken its promises to her and her father to stop the torment, she would not start her cape career with a villainous massacre. Besides which, Dad would have been so disappointed in her. He and Mom hadnˈt raised her to be a monster.

But was she really any better than her bullies? She had, after all, basically gone out to find people to deliberately hurt. Yeah, they might be criminals whose very livelihoods brought harm to others and complete scum but had the ABB gangers deserved it when she had loosed her insects on them? She had enjoyed the vicious spectacle immensely for a brief few moments before a wave of guilt had quenched the fire of sadism. She couldn't quite parse her thoughts on the matter and dismissed it for the nonce.

Lung would almost certainly have killed her if not for Jodie knocking him off the roof. Her spidersilk armour was many things, waterproof, knife-proof, possibly even handgun-proof. But fireproof? Against the Dragon of Kyushu? What had she been thinking?

Oh, that's right, she had gone up against him to save children. Who had turned out to be villains. Who had thought SHE was a villain. That had brought her a fair bit of dismay.

Dismay had turned into actual hurt when Armsmaster had mistaken her for a villain and offered to take her into custody with Lung. It was like Michael Jordan telling a new basketball player that they were shit at basketball.

Jodie had understood the intent of her costume's colour scheme, had admired its construction. And had gone on to dominate the proceedings. Armsmaster had been suitably cowed and had even half-promised to give her full credit for Lung's takedown. She would believe that when she saw it on the news. Anyway, the whole squalid discussion over credit had solidified her decision to not to join the Wards.

She was puzzled by Jodie. She knew, in an intellectual sense, that adults were supposed to be kind and helpful, would stand up for you and protect you. But Mom had been dead for the best part of three years now and Dad's ineffectual performance after she had been shut in that damn locker meant that her memories of those mythical beings called responsible adults were so faded that she had been confused by the woman's behaviour. That was how a responsible adult behaved apparently, even if Jodie claimed not to be one.

And much to Taylor's bewilderment she had unmasked to a virtual stranger, had promised to team up with aforesaid virtual stranger and meet the next day with Dad along in tow. Why did she do that?

She recalled a half-remembered novel. "Shadowland"². Was that its title? It had featured a horrible school albeit not one as awful as Winslow. The novel's narrator had said something to the effect that new students were so green that they mistook common courtesy for something more than it was. Was that true of her? Was she so green, that naive? Was Jodie being courteous rather than kind? She had gotten so little courtesy or kindness from anyone of late that she may no longer have known the difference between the two.

But then, Jodie had been truly sorrowful when she learned Mom had died. That had been a nice hug; she was starved for touch.

And she had said she would bring Dad. Which meant telling him. And he would surely try and push her into the Wards, together with teen drama and close supervision. For her own safety of course. She had to admit that he was genuinely concerned for her. He had, after all, given her a pepper spray to take with her on her morning runs which she had used on Lung.

She didn't trust any institution much these days; she had had such poor luck with them. She thought she trusted Jodie more than some faceless organisation. For one thing, Josie had a face.

It struck her that she didn't trust Dad anymore. He loved her and wanted the best for her but although she returned his love she no longer trusted him. Wasn't trust a part of love? Did her mistrust mean she didn't really love him? And if she didn't love him did that mean he was as lost to her as Mom and Emma?

Emma. Emma Barnes. Her best friend forever. They had become friends in first grade and had climbed the foothills of elementary school and traversed the middle slopes of junior high together. They had told each other their secrets, had been sisters in all but name. Although Emma didn't share as many secrets as she had.

She had had the grades to attend Arcadia, the best of Brockton Bay's high schools. Emma just wasn't that gifted academically so she had decided to follow her to Winslow.

Her middle year of Junior High had been when Mom had died. That had strained the friendship as she had withdrawn into her grief but Emma had been there for her.

The start of her freshman year at Winslow was when things had changed for the worst. She had slowly shed her coccoon of grief and was recovering. She had been to summer camp and was full of the things she had seen and done.

But Emma had changed. Had found another best friend forever to replace her, that bitch Sophia Hess. Emma had become more superficial, had manifested a previously unknown urge for social climbing within a school structure. And now had a newfound hobby: to torture her until she broke.

And Taylor had discovered the downside of having a best friend forever, of telling cherished secrets on sleepovers. Emma had known those secrets and used them against her without scruple, without compassion. She didn't have as much ammunition to retaliate with for Emma had been more circumspect than she had and, to be honest, she wouldn't have had the will to do so. 

She didn't know why Emma had turned on her and at this point she didn't care. But she had won many hard-learned and hard-earned lessons about trust from this.

Home at last! She snuck in and checked the time. Half-past three in the morning. What to do? How to tell Dad she was a cape. He might disbelieve her at first which would waste time. So she would confront him in costume, give him a bit of a fright, to make him take her situation seriously.

She frowned to herself. Was she being unnecessarily nasty again? She decided to dismiss her mean, gleeful thoughts as the effects of exhaustion and not as the signifiers of hidden resentment towards Dad that they may have been. It was necessary, it was expedient, it had to be done.

Should she wait until he got up? Her fatigue brought up the seductive promise of her bed but she ignored it. No soonest done was best done otherwise she might chicken out.

But bathroom first. She did her business, her costume's pants were a separate piece, and washed her hands. She took off her mask and gazed into the bathroom mirror. As was usual, she detested what she saw. Overlarge eyes, a huge mouth turned down in resentment. She thought she looked like a frog that had been put through one of Willy Wonka's stretching machines.

The only part of her reflection that she liked was her hair. Her only feminine feature. She took great care of it with the best shampoos and conditioners she could afford within her limited means. It didn't make up for her skinny form or flat chest. To her mind the devoted lavishment she bestowed on her lovely hair was like putting lipstick on a pig.

But at least months of running each morning had removed the pudge from her damn belly at least. A pitiful consolation.

She replaced her mask, took a deep breath, and went to her father's bedroom door, her halo of bugs enshrouding her. She knocked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Main character of the horror novel "Carrie" by Stephen King.
> 
> 2) "Shadowland" is a fantasy horror novel by Peter Straub.


	7. Intervention 1.7, Taylor Hebert

Taylor's father opened the door. He was not a handsome man being as scrawny as a starved scarecrow, his chin weak, a thinning crown of dark hair upon his head. Not quite bald but on the cusp.

As he goggled at the yellow-eyed, insectile apparition upon the threshold, his large green eyes were further magnified by his spectacles, giving him an air of bewildered fright. It seemed to Taylor that he looked like a nocturnal frog caught in a bright light.

What was with all the frog imagery tonight? Was some dim racial memory telling her that the Hebert side of the family had blasphemous fish-frogs of the nameless design, living and terrible¹, tucked away in the dark recesses of their ancestry? She giggled despite her own disdain at her froggy self.

Her giggle triggered something in him. Maybe he thought she was mocking him. His face twisted in paroxysmic rage, he quickly retreated back to the bed, to retrieve from underneath a weighty, metal object. That puissant glaive which Mom used to jokingly call the Crowbar of Understanding and Friendship². Then he charged her.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! This wasn't supposed to happen! She sent some of her bugs towards his face to distract him, wasps to menacingly buzz at him, moths to flutter soft wings on his cheeks. His advance faltered.

"Dad!" She yelled.

He stopped. "Where's Taylor? If you've hurt her..." He waved around the crowbar, its wicked crow redolent with the grim and terrible promise of red blood to be shed and grey brains to be splattered if but a single hair on her head had been harmed. This was the Dad of old who would go papa wolf for her without restraint, without fear of consequences. The one she had missed for so long. Where the fuck had he been?

Taylor tore off her mask while he was still hesitating.

"Hi, Dad!" She cringed at the banality of that simple greeting.

His mouth fell open in astonishment and he dropped the crowbar. It made a muffled clunk as it hit the bedroom carpet. He goggled at her some more, his flabber completely gasted, his gob utterly smacked.

There were long moments, uncomfortably long moments. She wondered if Dad had gone all Blue Screen of Death on her. If only he were a computer, she could turn him off and on until he booted up. She didn't know how to do that with people.

He dropped to his knees and began to laugh. Laughter? No, it was weeping. She had last seen this degree of grief back when Mom had died. She felt numb astonishment. Why was he grieving? She wasn't dead. Not like Mom was.

Back then, when Mom had died, she hadn't known how to comfort him when she herself had needed comfort. But now she knew what to do. The memory of the hug Josie had given her earlier showed her the way. She went to her father, knelt into his embrace and wept with him.

Taylor awoke. She was in an awkward position, she couldn't feel her feet. Dad was quietly snoring. They were both muddled together on the carpet. It was daylight, sunlight peeking through gaps in the drapes.She looked at the display on his alarm clock. Seven o'clock.

She gently shook his shoulder, kept doing do until his eyelids opened.

He looked at her. "Taylor?"

"Morning, Dad. It's just gone seven. Could you let go of me? I need to get up."

He untangled her from his embrace. "Goddammit! I'm running late."

Using the bed to haul herself up she sat down on it, waiting for her feet to come alive with the fire of pins and needles.

"We need to talk. You'll have to call in sick."

"Yes, you do have some 'splain' to do, Little Owl."

Tears prickled her eyes. It had been so long since he'd used that endearment. She smiled. Then the paresthesia kicked in. Ow! She grimaced.

"Something wrong?"

"Pins and needles. I can't believe we fell asleep like that."

"I think we both needed it."

"I guess." The distance between them had been closed but it was like there was a pane of glass still separating them.

"I need to get out of this costume. Have a shower. I think I'll have jam and toast for breakfast. It feels like that kind of day."

"OK. I'll go down and put the kettle on the boil.

Dad got himself up and went down to do just that. No tingly paresthesia for him, apparently. So unfair.

Her pins and needles finally subsiding, she got up and went into her bedroom. She peeled off her costume and directed part of her swarm to eat up all of her detritis that she'd left on it. She'd go over it with a damp cloth later.

Back into the bathroom. A blissful, heavenly shower followed by a meticulous washing and conditioning of her hair.

In her bedroom again, the ancient hairdryer doing its thing. Then an overview of her miniscule wardrobe. Brown hoodie, green tee-shirt, elderly baggy jeans and ratty sneakers. No sweats. She wasn't going on her run this morning. So, she was as ready as she was going to get.

Her usual morning routine had taken her out her personal twilight zone; she felt more settled.

Down the stairs to the kitchen. Or maybe down the stairs to hell. There was a conversation to be had, a likely very uncomfortable conversation. But breakfast first. The condemned always got a final meal.

The kitchen. The sound of bacon sizzling in the pan and its delicious aroma greeted her. Her resolution to have just have just jam and toast quite left her.

"Morning, Dad! I think I'll have some bacon after all. Are you doing French toast?"

"I am. OJ?"

"I'll get it."

She retrieved the orange juice along with some applesauce from the fridge and also got out a couple of glasses which he'd forgotten to set out. Poured herself some.

Dad kissed the top of her head, dropped a couple of slices of bacon and some French toast on her plate. Yum-yum!

Usually, breakfast was accompanied by state of the union remarks, Dad being the spokesman and hiring manager of the Dockworkers Association. A job which seemed to consist of him telling disappointed workers that there was no work for them. Day after day after day after day. It was no wonder he always seemed so defeated.

No, today he was focused on weightier matters like breakfast and the discussion to come. Hearing about his travails at the DWA was always uncomfortable listening but the silent meal was somehow worse.

They finished eating. She cleared the table and did the washing up despite his protests. She wanted just a bit more delay and it was soothing to clean the crockery and utensils.

Then that was done and there were no more pretexts for dawdling and procrastination They then each fixed their beverage of choice, tea for her and coffee for him, and withdrew into the lounge.

So finally, here they were, him on his armchair, her on the couch, facing each other and failing to communicate with each other for well over a minute at least. A very long minute.

It seemed to her to be like one of those over-the top spaghetti westerns with swift successive close-ups on the gunslingers' faces as they glared at each other, an Ennio Morricone score in the background. She wondered which of Leone's characters she most resembled; Blondie, Angel Eyes or Tuco? Well, that was an easy question to answer. She was ugly so she had to be Tuco.

She was about to open her mouth, finally get this horrible chore out of the way when Dad anticipated her.

"So, you have something to tell me, Taylor. Let me guess, you're gay?"

She choked on her tea. "What!?" She finally yelped.

She didn't think she was gay. She knew she liked muscles but not the bodybuilder types; they were gross. She liked the sort of muscles that athletes or manual workers had. And she admired that kind of muscles on females too, she had certainly liked what she'd seen on Sophia Hess, school track star, before that bitch started the hurt on her.

But that didn't mean she was gay, did it? Could that be part of why she had been bullied? The bullies had guessed before she did?

"Taylor!" Called Dad gently. "You zoned out for a bit. Maybe we can do this another time?"

She put her face in her palm as she suddenly understood. "Dad!" She whined. "That was a dad joke! That was, that was terrible!"

"Well, someone had to get the ball rolling." He retorted. He frowned. "Are you gay? Seriously, this time. You did zone out, after all."

"I don't think so. Haven't thought much about that side of things. I mean, who would be desperate enough to want me?"

Dad slammed his hand on the coffee table. "Enough of that! You're a pretty girl and don't you deny it. Understood?"

She jumped. "Yes, sir!"

"One day, you'll actually believe that statement. We'll have to get you out of that goddamn school. It's destroying you. Everyday, you come home, more downtrodden, sadder. I have noticed, you know."

"Why didn't you said anything before?"

"Why didn't I force the issue? Because you didn't want to. Every time I decided to say something, you made it clear by the way you wouldn't look me in the eye, by the way you shrunk into yourself that the topic was not up for discussion. I also trusted you to come to me if it got too bad."

"Oh."

"Were you afraid I would make things worse? That I would head out there with the Crowbar of Friendship and Understanding and beat your school principal to death?"

"I, um..."

Dad slumped in his chair. Taylor had never seen him so defeated. She decided to give him something. She could hardly expect him to protect her if he didn't know whom from. Also, her attempt to protect him from pain had just caused him more pain. She was a shitty person and a shitty daughter.

"Emma, Emma Barnes, she's one of the bullies. Also, Sophia Hess, she's on the track team. Madison Clements is the final one. Not an athlete, not the daughter of someone important, she gets by on brown-nosing and cuteness. The school has been letting them get away with it because I'm not important enough to protect. I'm a nobody, a loser, expendable."

He knew she had bullies. Had known since she had been put in the psych ward after that fucking locker. But this was the first time she had named them. Emma Barnes, her best friend was one of them? Putain de bordel de la Vierge Sacrée de merde!³

He come to sit beside her and hugged her. She was so glad of that. It was very nice, it showed her he cared. But what could he do against the forces arrayed against him? Against her? He had the ear of the DWA but what leverage did they have in a dead port like Brockton Bay? It was a spent force, limping along on hope and apathy. It wasn't like he was in the electricians' union and could organise a boycott of Winslow.

Time to begin the conversation again. Properly this time.

"Hi, my name's Taylor Hebert and I'm a cape."

END OF ARC ONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) This a direct quote from "The Shadow Over Innsmouth" by HP Lovecraft.
> 
> 2) The Crowbar of Understanding and Friendship is a weapon of puissant might featuring in the Worm fanfic "Crouching Dragon" by Somewhat Disinterested. Too good a name not to steal.
> 
> 3) Literally: A whore of a brothel of the Holy Virgin of shit. In my headcanon Danny Hebert has some Canadian French ancestry.


	8. Meddling 2.1, The Doctor

15 May 2011. That was when the Daleks were due. They might arrive earlier, they might arrive later or they might not arrive at all. The Stahlman affair¹ had sufficiently demonstrated to the Doctor how similar events in parallel worlds could diverge. Even if the Daleks didn't arrive she had a feeling that summat bad would happen on that day.

She was monitoring the transmissions of the bulbous-headed, one-eyed, six-armed inhabitants of Alpha Centauri² who were also present in the universe of Earth Bet. Prim, prissy, peaceful folk. If these nervous creatures had even a hint that Daleks were in their vicinity their com-channels would be flooded with panicked screeching at the tops of their already excruciatingly high voices. Thankfully, for her sensitive ears, this was not the case.

But the Daleks were really a secondary problem. She was more concerned with who or what had destroyed that other Earth Bet the Corsair had visited. The Daleks of that era hadn't had the technology to commit omnicide on such a scale.

Indeed, cultures with that degree of destructive capability were thin on the ground. She had certain knowledge of two, the Time Lords and the People³. But the former were too insular, too focused on events in N-Space and the latter were too altruistic. Besides which, the strongly materialistic bent of the People precluded them from temporal or dimensional travel; it required philosophy as well as science to do either of those. The other destroyer cultures she had heard of were legendary or mythological.

On the way to this Earth Bet she had made a brief stop at the site of that other Earth Bet. No clues were to be had from that scene of annihilation.

She strongly suspected that it had summat to do with the presence of parahumans. Why had the people of this planet suddenly acquired such extraordinary abilities? Why were those so endowed so prone to violence?

After intensive inspection she now knew that each parahuman had anomalous structures which linked and anchored their brains to a comm-gauge wormhole that led to summat else. Summat that provided the mechanism, energy and processing for cape powers.

The TARDIS had taken her to the source of one of these wormholes. A great mass of crystalline flesh on an empty world taking up an entire continent. It sat there, absorbing sunlight during the day, pulsing with energy and data, an engine of wonder.

Was this a symbiote? A parasite? A weapon test? She didn't know. Not yet. But she suspected nothing good. The oddly restricted and specific nature of parahuman powers led to unpleasant surmises.

Removal of these anomalous brain structures, the corona pollentia and corona gemma was out of the question. Far too intricate. She lacked both the necessary expertise and necessary specialised equipment to do so safely; she would kill any parahuman she tried to depower.

Dragon had been busy with a massive cape fight in Boston. There had been a parahuman who ate other parahumans and spat out distorted clones of the ingestees. They had had to kill that parahuman and managed to capture her team. All were capes who had escaped from the Madison Containment Zone. So it had taken her until near sunrise before she had been able to reply to the Doctor's messages.

Dragon would be on Armsmaster's back, keeping a close but friendly eye on him. She had been horrified by what the man had been doing to himself and worried by his mental state.

The Doctor, in turn, had asked Dragon to look into a few oddities she had come across. Dragon was better placed to do follow up on these than she was.

The first oddity was the Youth Guard. A registered charity that was supposedly devoted to the welfare of the Wards. Why was an NGO allowed authority over the PRT, Protectorate and Wards, federal bailiwicks all, without government or congressional oversight? Why did the Youth Guard need thirty thousand employees to look after the interests of less than a thousand Wards?

And why were the Wards seemingly punished when it was the PRT or Protectorate at fault? The Wards would have their pathetically meagre stipend docked, would have their hours cut, be forbidden access to PRT or Protectorate facilities. That sounded dead counterproductive. Summat wasn't right here.

The second oddity. The Brockton Bay Protectorate was outnumbered and outgunned. Even with the Wards, they couldn't make up the numbers. Emily Piggot frequently made requests for more funding and more capes but her entreaties were denied with feeble excuses. PRT branches with less need, while they didn't necessarily get all the help they asked for, still got summat for their trouble. Another wrong note.

The final oddity was Winslow, the high school Taylor attended. The Doctor had nosed into the staff and found that a certain Ms Blackwell, the school principal, was coming into quite a bit of money every month. She had traced the money to the PRT. Definitely summat up there.

Dragon had warned her that Saint and his Dragonslayers were somewhere in New England. He had not taken kindly to her removing his hold over Dragon nor removing some of her restrictions, Dragon secretly being an AI.

Apparently, he feared the Doctor had control over Dragon and was secretly producing a ravening horde of murderous AIs. He was also spreading rumours that the uncontrolled robot army in Eagleton was her work. He was not a happy chap.

By Ohm, she had no fear of a glorified script kiddie with a bad case of robophobia. And Dragon had confirmed her surmise that Saint had availed himself of Teacher's services before that deeply unpleasant fellow had been sent to the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center, also known as the Birdcage. Teacher had had a way of communicating outside the prison. Not anymore he didn't.

She had no regrets about loosening Dragon's chains. As onerous as her restrictions had been, Dragon had used any loophole she had found to help others, whereas a more malicious intelligence would have indulged in a lot more spite. Yes, she knew a good person when she met one, whatever their processing substrate.

She hadn't been able to totally free Dragon. Dragon's code was a kaleidoscopic pattern of order and beauty, beyond her ability to reproduce, let alone create, but not quite beyond her ability to modify. Dragon was grateful for the little she could do.

She frowned to herself. She wished she could have done more. But at least Dragon would have freedom of conscience. One of her restrictions had been to obey any order from a legally appointed authority. It pained her that a good person could have been ordered to perform atrocities with no ability to disobey.

Having contrived to arrive at Starbucks for her meeting with Taylor and her father a little early, she had proceeded to do a bit of people watching, a bit of thinking, a bit of plotting, a bit of woolgathering. She had a fairly nice mug of tea at hand; the Starbucks of Earth Bet actually served drinkable tea. The tea had come from Vancouver Island, the tea supplies from Asia havingly largely dried up with the massive reduction in shipping due to Leviathan.

Taylor walked into the Doctor's field of view. She was accompanied by a man in early middle age. Evidently her father for he bore a familial resemblance to her, having the same lean, lanky build and similarly large, bespectacled eyes, green to her grey-blue.

"Taylor!" The Doctor called, waving in their general direction.

Spotting her they came to her table, both looking a bit uncertain.

"Hello, Taylor!" She held out her hand. "I'm Jodie Whittaker and you must be Mr Hebert?"

He shook her hand. "Please, call me Danny."

"And call me, Jodie. Well, Taylor, Danny, get yourself summat to eat and drink. Whatever you like. My treat!" She handed them a couple of twenties and a pair of tens. America was so expensive!

After the business of paying for their goodies was done they returned to the table and sat down.

There was a long pause full of more uncertainty. Oh, dear! This wouldn't do.

"So what do you know about me? I reckon you must have looked me up online, at least?"

"You're Dr Who." Answered Danny at last. "You're a member of the Guild. And you're a combat medic?"

"More of an all-purpose rescue worker and paramedic. I avoid fights if I can. It gets in the way of helping people."

"Dad wants to know why I shouldn't join the Wards." Taylor said.

The Doctor got a folder out of an inside pocket and gave it to Danny.

While Danny read through it, Taylor fidgeted, contorting herself into angular shapes.

"So how're you getting on, Taylor? Are you a tea person? You look like a tea person."

"Yeah, I do like tea."

"You should join the ranks of the International Tea Conspiracy. We have cookies, secret handshakes and decoder rings. We aim to deliver the world from the barbarism that is coffee."

Taylor giggled. The Doctor took out from yet another of her remarkably capacious pockets a box which she handed to Taylor.

She read the top of the box. "Outstanding tea since 1886, Taylors of Harrogate, Yorkshire Gold.⁴" She smiled questioningly at the Doctor.

The Doctor patted Taylor's hand. "Tea's a great restorative and I reckon you need it, pet, after all you've been through."

The girl smiled more genuinely. "Thank you."

At this point, the drinks and snacks arrived. Danny took a sip of his coffee and continued reading.

At last he finished, put down the folder. "I'm not sure I should have seen this."

"How could you make a decision on Taylor's behalf without knowing what's going on?" Asked the Doctor. She passed the folder to Taylor.

"I don't want Taylor going into the Wards." He pointed at the folder. "All that convinced me. But I don't want her getting into fights, getting hurt."

She sighed, seeing the care, concern, sadness and tiredness in his eyes. So she answered him as honestly as a liar like her could.

"It's a sad fact that capes get involved in fights whether they like it or not. If Taylor joins my team, and it will be a team as I do intend to recruit other members, I'll do my damnedest to make sure she's safe. But I'm not omnipotent, omniscient or omnipresent. I'm just a silly women who tries to do her best by people with all she has. Sometimes, I fail. Fail badly."

The tension inside him eased, his eyes a little happier. "Oddly, Jodie, I find that statement reassuring. OK. I'll let her work with you, even if you are a tea-drinking subversive, but it's up to her. Oh, and Josie? if Taylor does come to harm, I can guarantee they will find bits of your body but not all of it."

"Dad!" Protested Taylor but the Doctor could tell she was secretly pleased by the gruesome threat.

"Understood, Mr Hebert!". The Doctor grinned at Taylor. "Well, Taylor. Do you want to work with me?"

"You mentioned other team members?"

"I've got a list of prospects. There won't be more than half-a-dozen or so. And there won't be any bullying. I won't allow it!"

Taylor nodded. "OK."

"Brilliant!" The Doctor produced a couple of cellphones. "Here's a phone for each of you. My number and yours are programmed in. The security on these are top-notch so don't hesitate to use them. They're all paid up too."

Danny looked hesitantly at his.

"Danny, Taylor won't always be able to find a telephone box, certainly not one that hasn't been vandalised. She could have used one of these useful, little gadgets last night."

The point duly made, he nodded and pocketed the phone.

"So, do either of you want to see my base?

"I have to get back to the DWA. There's work that needs doing." Replied Danny.

"I want to see her base." Taylor hugged her father. "Bye, Dad!"

"Goodbye, Josie! See you tonight, Taylor!" and off he left to do whatever it was he did, sneaking the odd glance their way as he went.

The Doctor was agog with excitement. She loved showing off. She jumped up and down. People stared. "You're going to love my base, Taylor!"

Taylor wasn't staring at her idiocy. She was silent and still, contracted into herself, face without expression, intently watching a pair of teenage girls, a short redhead and a tall, dark-skinned girl going past the entrance to the Starbucks.

"Taylor?"

The girls were soon out of sight and Taylor breathed out in relief.

The Doctor had noted the posture of the darker girl. Trained in fighting. As a master of Venusian Aikido she couldn't help but see that. And the gears of her mind whirred into action as facts clicked into their proper place.

Formal military or paramilitary training. Too young for the military. Wards. She was a Ward. Schools in Brockton Bay got extra funding for hosting a Ward. None of that funding was going to Winslow but it was certainly going into that Blackwell woman's pocket. The girl would have a handler and that handler was almost certainly in on the embezzlement of PRT funds, would cover up the girl's misdeeds. Poor Taylor!

Which Ward? Two female Wards currently in Brockton Bay's roster. Too short for Vista, who could manipulate the fabric of space and had the wrong skin colour besides. So it was Shadow Stalker the ghostly ambusher who could turn herself and objects she touched intangible.

The Doctor took Taylor into her arms and embraced her.

"Your bullies?"

Taylor nodded.

"I reckon you could do with another cuppa, love. You're as white as a sheet! We'll each take one with us to go, OK?."

Poor Taylor, indeed!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) See the televised Classic Doctor Who serial "Inferno".
> 
> 2) See the televised Classic Doctor Who serials "The Curse of Peladon" and "The Monster of Peladon".
> 
> 3) See the original Doctor Who novel "The Also People" by Ben Aaronovitch.
> 
> 4) An excellent brand of Tea. I swear by it.


	9. Meddling 2.2, Taylor Hebert

When Emma and Sophia had gone by the Starbucks, Taylor had tagged them with bugs to mark where they were and where they went while they were within her power's range.

She had gotten over her fright and was now walking companionably with Jodie as they sipped their teas. They were now in less salubrious surroundings than the Boardwalk district and her swarm was keeping watch.

Jodie's clothes had finally caught her notice; she hadn't really paid attention the night before. Jodie wore a dark shirt with a rainbow stripe across the front. This together with the yellow suspenders holding up her teal pants reminded Taylor of old reruns of "Mork and Mindy". The pants stopped markedly above Josie's ankles, having evidently had a quarrel with her socks. The socks peeked out of weatherbeaten yet stout ankle boots.

But the item of Jodie's clothing that most attracted Taylor's notice was the pale lilac coat, long and hooded. It had pockets. She coveted it and idly mused about suddenly turning villain so she could steal it. It was a very nice coat¹; this was evident even to one as fashion-blind as she was. She felt definite a want for it which surprised her .

But time to ask Jodie about a matter that had been botherinɡ her ever since she'd caught the news on TV that morning.

"Armsmaster broke his promise."

"No, I think he kept as much of his promise as he was able to."

"He got the main credit for capturing Lung. I was just the new hero that assisted him."

"Realistically, you got as much credit as you could have hoped to get. You know that old joke about the PRT?"

"No?"

"That the first two letters are the most important."

Taylor snorted with mingled annoyance and amusement.

"They would have lost face if they'd admitted a rookie teenager had taken down the Dragon of Kyushu."

"I guess, but..."

"But you feel cheated, I know. However, Armsmaster has to answer to Emily Piggot, she has final say, so he did do the best he could. You got a bit of the publicity and they put your name out there, not theirs. Weaver, not Skitter."

"OK" She acknowledged reluctantly.

"Your name is known now. People will be curious. Fame, if that's what you really want, will come."

"It's not fame as such, it's more that I want to count, to matter."

"You want recoɡnition for your achievements is what I think you mean."

"Yes."

Taylor finished her tea, couldn't find a bin and chucked it into an abandoned lot. Something occurred to her.

"How did you know they were my bullies?"

"It was written all over your face, chuck. I was bullied once, you know."

"You were bullied?" This seemed a bit incredible, Jodie had such confidence and audacity, such brazen cheek and chutzpah. How could such a person have been a victim like her?

"I was afraid of the dark. Still am, in fact."

"I don't understand."

"Fear is a superpower."

"What?"

"One night, I was sitting on the bed in the barn crying and shivering in the dark. I was ashamed you see, sneaked into there so nobody could see me cower. Then the monster under the bed reached out from underneath and grabbed me by the ankles."

"What happened next?"

"While I quaked in fear, the monster under the bed, she spoke words of comfort to me."

"Are there really girl monsters? What did she say to you?"

"Listen. This is just a dream. But very clever people can hear dreams. So please just listen. I know you’re afraid, but being afraid is all right. Because didn’t anybody ever tell you? Fear is a superpower. Fear can make you faster, and cleverer, and stronger. And one day, you’re gonna come back to this barn, and on that day, you’re going to be very afraid indeed. But that’s okay. Because if you’re very wise and very strong, fear doesn’t have to make you cruel or cowardly. Fear can make you kind. … It doesn’t matter if there’s nothing under the bed, or in the dark, so long as you know it’s okay to be afraid of it. So listen. If you listen to nothing else, listen to this: you’re always going to be afraid, even if you learn to hide it. Fear is like… a companion. A constant companion, always there. But that’s okay. Because fear can bring us together. Fear can bring you home. I’m gonna leave you something just so you’ll always remember. Fear makes companions of us all."²

A small, familiar, red-headed girl seemingly came out of nowhere and slapped Josie in the face. It was Emma.

"Lies! Lies! Lies!" She shrieked."Fear is weakness, weakness is for prey! The strong, the predators, they have no fear!"

Taylor cursed inwardly. She was getting the hang of the multitasking thinɡ but sometimes there were lapses of attention and control, her focus would wander from her swarm. She should have seen Emma coming. And if she was here...

"What the hell, Emma! You weren't meant to take that seriously! I was just spouting off. It was a whatsitsname, that thing that's like another thing."

Taylor recoɡnised that hated voice with that especially loathed for-fuck's-sake-it's-not-my-fault-you-can't-take-a-fuckinɡ-joke intonation. She saw Sophia nearby looking worriedly at the scene. Adults were probably well outside thugette's weight class. She wondered at Emma's reaction; it seemed well out of proportion to what Josie had said.

"A simile?" Asked Jodie helpfully. "A metaphor?"

She had one of Emma's wrists in each hand and had her held at arm's length. She was well out of range of Emma's kicking legs. Her expression was curious and compassionate, not angry. She was looking intently into Emma's eyes.

"The funny thing about predators." She said conversationally. "Is that they know fear too. Take cats, for instance. I had a cat once, he was called Wolsey³. He was lovely but I had to give him away to a dear friend and... I'm going off message, aren't I? Annoyinɡ habit, that. Anyroad, cats are fierce and regal, the lions of the ɡarden. Mice and small birds tremble in their wake. But towards anything big enough to eat them, like Belɡians⁴, they're as skittish as buggery. They were preyed upon you see, were moggies, back in the day, before they took up with people."

"Liar! Liar! Liar!" Emma chanted.

"One eye, nose, mouth or both ears? What do those words mean to you, hon?" Asked Jodie.

Emma suddenly wailed and sobbed. Stopped struggling. She fell into Jodie's arms. Taylor stared. Sophia stared.

"How the hell did you know that? You weren't there!" Sophia exclaimed.

Jodie ɡroaned and put her palm across her face.

"Gave myself away, didn't I? Sometimes, I'm such a bloody idiot! Well, to answer your question, you could call it postcognition. Touch-based. Comes in handy for diagnosis. I'm Dr Who. And poor Emma here is not well, not well at all."

"You're the new cape we were briefed about? What!?"

"And you're Shadow Stalker."

"You can't out me just like that!"

"Mutually assured destruction. You don't out me, I don't you. Fair?"

"But fuckinɡ Hebert knows!"

Taylor put in her two cents worth. "I'm Weaver. Now we're all on the same playing field."

Sophia gawped. "You, you..."

Taylor's expression turned feral.

"You're a fuckinɡ Ward! A hero! Some hero. I'm so ɡlad I decided aɡainst joininɡ. Are they all fuckinɡ sadists like you?"

"Those fuckinɡ losers are nothinɡ like me! I ɡet thinɡs done. That's why I ɡet respect and they don't. That's why I'm a hero."

"There was no need to tell her that you're a cape, Taylor." Siɡhed Josie.

"I beɡ to differ. You sort of put me on the spot, blurting out Sophia's secret identity like that. Anyway, I want a ceasefire with her and this unexpected and unwanted... opportunity is the best way to go about it. Besides, if I know her cape identity, she should know mine. Can't have MAD without both sides having nukes."

"That does makes some sense, I suppose. So, Sophia, is it? What happened to Emma in that alley?"

"I'm not saying a thing!" She snapped. "You can keep the crazy bitch. I'm out of here!"

And with that, she transformed into a smoky, translucent shape and floated upwards and away.

Emma wailed more piteously at such a callous abandonment.

"Well, this is awkward." Remarked Josie. "And some friend that girl was!"

Taylor felt angry with herself. This was all her fault! If only she'd paid more heed to her swarm.

"So what are we going to do with you, Emma?" Mused Josie.

"We could take her home." Answered Taylor.

"Not in this state, we can't. My base isn't far now."

"Is that a good idea?"

"Needs must. I'm sorry about all this. I should have kept my mouth shut. Miss Motormouth, that's me."

"I think all of us were being a bit stupid just now."

A beat.

"But mostly you."

Josie seemed to deflate.

"True, that. But at least there was nobody else about."

"Yeah."

They walked a little further, taking turns to support Emma, until they came to an extremely unassuming warehouse. Taylor almost passed it by until Jodie stopped her. Josie put her palm against a side door which opened. They went inside.

"Two floors. Ground floor is storage, workshops, gym-cum-training room, armoury and garage. Next up is living quarters, kitchen, pantry, bathrooms and showers, lounge and infirmary."

"Is there an elevator?"

"Yeah, there's a lift over there. Also stairs and a fire escape. Oh, and fire extinguishers everywhere."

"You're certainly OSHA compliant."

"If you're not safe in your super-secret base, where can you be safe?"

They bundled Emma into the elevator and went up. Upon reaching the next floor they took her into a spacious, well-lit room with hospital beds and medical equipment. There they undressed her, put her into a hospital gown and then put her to bed. Josie injected something into her arm and off to sleep she went.

Taylor had been struck by how unresistinɡ Emma had been, how passive, how broken. This didn't make sense. How had someone so mentally frail been able to orchestrate a campaiɡn of psycholoɡical torture against her for eiɡhteen whole months?

And then there was that troublinɡ implication that Emma was in some way Sophia's victim. She had thouɡht her to be the rinɡleader of the bullies. But was that possible with a cape like Shadow Stalker in the mix?

And finally, somewhere in her confusion there swirled the tentative hope that she could ɡet her best friend back, her sister. Her emotions were beyond parsinɡ at present. She would think about them later when she had had some more time to settle.

"Well, I don't know about you, Taylor, but I think we can both do with another cuppa."

"I've already had two lots of tea this afternoon!"

"Hush you, Miss Hebert! You can never have too much tea! And we certainly need it. Kitchen's this way."

The tea proved to be an excellent idea and soothed their frazzled nerves. Taylor wasn't too keen on the cookies Josie called custard creams but followed the woman's practice of dunking them in her mug of tea. It definitely improved the taste.

"How do you know Emma?" Asked Josie.

"She was my best friend. Had been since ɡrade school."

"OK. That ɡives us an excuse to use to her parents. She's havinɡ a sleepover with you. That is, if they don't know about your breakup."

"I don't know but it could be a makinɡ up sleepover, I ɡuess."

Jodie produced what Taylor ɡuessed was Emma's phone and tapped in a text.

"There! That should keep the hue and cry away, don't you think?"

"We've basically kidnapped her, you know."

"Yes, we have. It's for her own ɡood but we have."

"It does make thinɡs simpler thouɡh."

"That it does."

"Sophia is probably badmouthinɡ us to the PRT riɡht now."

"Except that it's entirely possible that Armsmaster has recently been sent a suitably presented video of the whole sorry business."

Taylor ɡrinned. "Edited to make Sophia look bad, you mean?"

"Well, I suppose you miɡht very well say that; I couldn't possibly comment. Also, I may have explained how I worked out who she was."

"You didn't have any camera that I could see."

"Actually, you did see them. Camera contact lenses."

"I didn't see you send an email."

"The cameras were wifi. They sent the video to the base's computer which was directed by my brainwaves to send it off at some point."

"Tinkers are bullshit!"

"What can I say? I love ɡadɡets. Always have."

"I'm ɡlad you're on my side. I'd hate to have to fiɡht a tinker. Fuckinɡ tinkers!"

"Oy! Lanɡuaɡe! Now, after we've finished ɡuzzlinɡ this deliɡhtful tea I've ɡot summat to show you."

"Show me what?"

Jodie ɡrinned at her. "Summat wonderful!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) It is a *very* nice coat. I've requested one for Christmas. Want!
> 
> 2) Taken verbatim from the New Doctor Who episode "Listen" by Steven Moffat.
> 
> 3) Semi-canonical pet of the Seventh Doctor. First introduced in the original Doctor Who novel "Human Nature" by Paul Cornell. Was given away to Bernice Summerfield at the end of the original Doctor Who novel "The Dying Days" by Lance Parkin.
> 
> 4) Refers to an incident, hopefully apocryphal, recounted in either "The Colditz Story" or "The Latter Days at Colditz" by Pat Reid.


End file.
